by Nathan Roden
“Jaclyn is not like that, Boone. She is good-hearted and noble—much like her father. Lady Jaclyn never wanted to be Queen.”
Boone bit his lip.
“What have you kept hidden from me, Simon? I have kept no secrets from you. Until tonight, I thought you kept no secrets from me.
“I thought—I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends,” Simon said.
“Then why did you never tell me about—?”
“Because I was ashamed!” Simon growled. Smoke rolled from his jaws. He blinked—several times.
“I met her at her family home, on the night of her brother’s wedding. I could say our meeting was by chance, but that would be a lie. I saw her—and I could not turn my eyes away. Though I knew that she was to wed my brother, I was….
“Helpless.”
“I am sorry that you felt you could not share this with me,” Boone said.
“I went back, the next night,” Simon said. “But she was not there. I scolded myself for my stupidity—but the next night I flew there again. And she was waiting for me. But after only minutes, Jaclyn’s father and his men stormed into the room. They almost….they almost killed me.”
“So, your heart got the best of your head,” Boone said. “That certainly was not the first time that this has happened, Your Grace. You were a young boy with perfectly normal—”
“Don’t you see, Boone? I put Jaclyn in danger—not merely that night—but every night since. What if word had reached Sterling that I was making social calls to the Viceroy’s home? And the home of the future Queen? How could I ever explain being so foolish while still being determined to obtain the throne?”
Boone said nothing.
“Sometime I believe I can feel it, Boone,” Simon said. “The blood. The very blood that bears the madness of generations of Morgenwraithes—coursing through my veins! Simon Smyth! The dragon who wants to be King! The dragon that is in love with—!”
Simon stopped talking. His jaw hung open.
Boone leaned back against a tree. He puffed out his cheeks and blew out a long breath.
“You…love her, Simon?”
Simon did not look at Boone.
“I was thirteen years old, as was she. The night I first saw her, she was so lovely it tore at my heart to stay away. And now—her beauty knows no limits, Boone. And she has the heart of an angel. But I remain trapped inside of this curse. And the Lady Jaclyn Lamont has become my Queen, and my brother’s wife.”
Simon stretched his wings and then stretched his neck.
“I have been hungry enough to eat an entire horse. I am able to kill a man and swallow him in two bites. Yet, my feelings for one girl leave me as helpless as a field mouse.”
“You could have told me all of this before, you know,” Boone said.
Simon laughed.
“Perhaps so. It does feel better to have bared my soul.”
“Maybe you have failed to realize that I am a bit of a romantic, myself,” Boone said.
“And what evidence might have ever given me that idea?” Simon asked.
“Ha, ha! Evidence, you say? I’ll tell you this, Your Grace. Should you ever show up with the Queen on your back, you had better have her lovely handmaid with you, as well!”
“I wouldn’t have it otherwise,” Simon said. What was her name a—?”
“Helena,” Boone said.
“You had that name on the end of your tongue, didn’t you?”
“You bet I did!”
“Yet another chapter in our tale, my friend,” Simon said.
“When you recount the day to the minstrels, you might leave out the part about eating the horse.”
“A bit too much, you think?” Simon asked.
“Might be a bit much for the squeamish. Nothing spoils a good romantic tale like people vomiting on each other.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that,” Simon said. “I have not been to a party since I was six.”
“That reminds me,” Boone said. “I got you something—for your name day.”
“It is not my name day.”
“Well, then, for your brother’s name day,” Boone said. “I ran into a herd of wild boar. They seemed interested in having me for dinner. I barely escaped up a tree in time, but I did manage to sink my knife into one of them. That doesn’t exactly amount to a feast for a big fellow like you, but…”
Simon laughed.
“Thank you, Boone. The boar will be plenty. I plan to rise early and search out a hunting party to scavenge from.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if you do that more for amusement than to get something to eat,” Boone said.
Simon launched into the air before sunrise. He did not have to fly far before he heard the sound of trumpets.
That is always a good sign, he thought to himself.
Trumpets at dawn usually accompanied a large hunting party. A large hunting party meant that an advance team of scouts had located the very best prey.
Simon circled the area and took cover in the forest. As always, he looked for the dogs.
There were a dozen of them that morning—more dogs than he had ever seen used on a hunt.
I wonder what grand prize may lie in store this exceptional morning, Simon thought.
The dogs were loosed. Simon waited for the hunters to follow them. He took to the skies and circled ahead of the dogs. He flew low over the edge of the forest until he spotted the object of the hunt.
Four head of bison.
Simon could not help himself. He salivated. A flood of memories from his youth ran filled his mind. The magnificent feasts—the reasons for which he never knew or cared about. Heaping platters of his favorite foods, the greatest of which now stood huddled together beneath him. Bison.
The largest of the animals was easily over a thousand pounds.
But there was something wrong. The bison were not moving. At all.
Surely, they hear the dogs.
Simon flew closer—close enough to see that the bison were tied together and staked to a tree.
Fifteen archers stepped out, arrows pulled tautly and aimed at that morning’s real prey—
Simon Smyth Morgenwraithe
The dragon.
Fifteen arrows flew as Simon reversed direction. The arrows caromed off of his scales. One of them struck a wing tip and passed straight through.
Behind those fifteen archers stepped fifteen more.
Simon banked and turned toward his nearest line of escape—a narrow passage between two stands of trees. If he could just make it through, he could separate himself from the archers enough to elevate without exposing his neck and belly.
Thirty archers? Simon thought. In designed formation—as if they were at war…
Simon tried to stop, but he had no chance.
Just as he was on the verge of escape, he saw what awaited him between the trees.
A snare.
Thirty
The snare tore loose from the trees from the dragon’s weight and the speed of his flight. It pulled against Simon’s body and rolled him into a ball. He blew a blast of fire but the flame had nowhere to go but into his own vulnerable belly.
Simon looked down at the rope snare. It was unscathed.
Bewitched. I should have known.
Simon hit the ground. His momentum caused him to roll. The ropes gripped him tighter and tighter as he slowed to a stop. He lay on his side, staring into the forest. Two bluebirds hopped among the branches and stared at him.
How will it happen? Simon thought. Will my life leave me as I stare at these birds? Or will my killers look into my eyes while their swords and arrows drain the tainted blood from my body?
“You are not nearly as frightening, balled up on the ground.”
It was a pleasant voice—a young male voice that bore the dialect of the wealthy and powerful. It was not a familiar voice. It did not sound like the voice of one who was accustomed to slaughter—especially after initiating a discussion.
/> “It would be difficult to appear frightening while completely at the mercy of one’s enemy,” Simon said.
“He speaks, and he possesses above average intelligence,” the voice said. “I can now confirm all rumors to be true.”
“It seems that the day may be counted a success—for one of us,” Simon said.
“Go back!” the voice said. “Go back and join the others!”
“But, my K—”
“Did I not speak clearly?” the voice asked. “Do you wish to wake in the morning with your head attached to your shoulders?”
Simon heard the scurrying of feet.
Simon struggled to breathe. A pair of boots appeared in front of his eyes. Someone knelt in front of him.
“It has been a long, long time, Brother.”
“Lucien?”
“To tell you the truth, I thought you would be smarter than to continue raiding hunting parties,” Lucien said. “Is it simple arrogance?”
“No,” Simon said.
“Then why do you continue to do it? Why put yourself in such a dangerous position—in reach of arrows that might strike you down at any time? Is there some special thrill that comes from stealing a man’s kill that I am not aware of? You have every means available to fill your belly at will. Speed, agility, talons, fire—why tempt fate as you do?”
“I only live if others die,” Simon said.
Simon breathed out. A tiny flame burst from one nostril. Lucien jumped back.
“I am being foolish,” Lucien said. “Your jaws are bound tight, but it seems that you still present a danger.”
“Is that what you believe, Lucien?” Simon said. “Do you believe that I would starve myself to avoid killing—and yet still be willing to harm my…my baby brother?”
“I am truly sorry, your Grace,” came another voice behind them. “I…I could not stop him. The Captain of the Guard approaches.”
Lucien looked at Simon. Simon saw the King swallow hard—his eyes clouded in confusion.
Lucien stood.
“I want it brought to the castle,” Lucien said. “Put it on the cart. I want it unharmed.”
“Yes, your Grace. He is bound tightly now, but…what if the dragon is able to…to make fire?”
“The sorceress constructed the snare, Sire,” Lucien said. “But I would recommend that you avoid the beast’s head.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
The King’s men brought on a large cart and a lift with which to lift the snared dragon.
They have prepared this—for how long? Simon thought.
He swore at himself under his breath for his naive stupidity—and his brash disregard for the King’s planning and tenacity. He used words that were only a distant memory—words he had heard his father and uncle use on occasion. This only made him feel worse.
Simon only caught the occasional glance of a leg or foot while he lay motionless curled into a fetal position. He watched the legs of men skirting around to avoid his mouth as they tied him up with heavy ropes.
Soon, Simon lay in that same position of the bed of the cart. With a lurch, the cart began its bumpy journey.
Why did he not just kill me and get it over with? Simon thought. But he knew the answer.
His death would be a ceremony. He would become the next “spectacle”—in the same way as the last dragon.
In the arena—and in front of the entire Kingdom.
A spectacle of might, and cruelty. Dominance and power. Orchestrated and ruled over by Lord Sterling.
Cheered on by a people ruled by fear and intimidation. A people without hope.
The people’s last hope rolled onto the King’s Road atop a battered wagon. The boy dragon, who would be King, felt his own hope fade away as a single giant tear splashed against the wooden deck.
Thirty-One
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Simon opened one eye. He ached all over. Water dripped in front of him in three different streams.
The snare was gone. He was now chained against a wall. He had only vague and distant memories of the dungeon beneath Morgenwraithe castle. Simon assumed, correctly, that that was where he was. He worked his jaw open and closed several times. He was surprised that his jaws were not clamped shut. He was glad of it, but did not for a moment believe it was a good thing.
The explanation for the lack of head restraint stood before him—in the form of a ten-foot-tall shield made of thick steel.
As he looked over the chains and shackles, someone stepped from behind the shield.
“You’re awake. Good,” the sorceress Magdalena said.
“I did not rest well, if that is your next question,” Simon said. “I am bound securely—in the dungeon of my family home. Why am I not muzzled?”
Magdalena pointed at the curved steel wall.
“Because of this.”
“I do not remember that. What is it?”
“It was found in the castle of a rival Kingdom,” Magdalena said.
“Of course, Sterling sees everyone as rivals. No one knew what the thing was until some of the family members were interrogated. It is a Dragon Shield.”
“Dragon shields are nothing new,” Simon said.
“In that particular village, dragons were captured and chained to the dungeon wall—in the same manner as you are. They were teased, prodded, and tortured until their anger and frustration overcame their ability to reason. When they loosed their fire in front of this shield, it came right back upon them. A demented form of sport if you ask me—but highly effective.”
“You feel no need to hide behind its protection, I see.”
Magdalena held her arms out to her side.
“As you once said to me, our lives are intertwined. You don’t like it, but you do not really wish to see me dead.”
She lowered her voice.
“Just as I do not wish for you to die.”
“Why are you here?” Simon asked.
“I was charged with making sure you remained unconscious while they moved you from the wagon to this place. You made quite the impression on the men of the King’s Army. You threatened to wake up twice, and I watched several grown men soil themselves. You should be proud.”
“I should be proud? You created a dragon, and the Kingdom depends on you to assure that I can harm no one.”
“I had no guarantee of success,” Magdalena said. “I have never sedated anything larger than a man. I could just as easily have killed you—or left you a helpless cripple.”
“Forgive me if I cannot applaud your efforts. I am unable to bring my hands together,” Simon said. “I am also currently fixated on the fact that I shall soon die, horribly.”
“You will die, because you have been a fool!” Magdalena spat.
“Foolish and arrogant! Invading my home with your demands! Mocking parties of trained and experienced hunters! When you die, the fault will be your own.”
The dragon sighed.
“My Lady,” said a voice beyond the corridor. Magdalena looked over her shoulder.
“He is alive. And awake. There appears to be no physical damage.”
Magdalena looked at Simon and glared.
“And his mind is still quite sharp.”
Magdalena left the dungeon. Lucien stepped in, warily. He stood beside the protective shield.
“So, it is over, at last,” Simon said.
“Yes, it is,” Lucien said. “Our dear Uncle Sterling lives and breathes—”
“And drinks, and rapes and—”
“I am not under burden to defend him, Brother-Dragon!” Lucien spat. “I am certain you think of nothing but your own innocence at six years of age. How much responsibility should I have borne at the age of three?”
Simon slowly turned his face away from Lucien.
“He is only a man. You will not remain a boy forever, Lucien. You must prepare—”
“Hold your tongue!” Lucien cried. “Do you really have no idea what the throne has been reduced to?”
&nb
sp; “I know Sterling has abused his position as Regent to—”
Lucien laughed.
“Abused? Abused his position? No man in the realm has been more feared since the days that our ancestors first breached these walls! He rules the King’s Guard with an iron fist—and the army commanders, as well. He has built a powerful circle of allies, which he rewards handsomely from the Kingdom coffers. And worse yet, he is regularly convinced that all neighboring Kingdoms have become threats to the realm.”
Lucien paused. He looked down and continued softly.
“We have slaughtered entire villages—in my name. Decrees of war bearing my seal have brought about the death of thousands. I may as well have committed each murder with my own hands.”
“You need help, Lucien. Allies. This situation does not have to—”
Lucien clamped his hands to his ears.
“Shut your mouth! Shut it, I say!” Lucien screamed. “You do not know, Dragon! You have no idea of the evil that man possesses! I was ten, Simon! A mere boy of ten on the day he knelt before me with his stinking breath in my face and his hand around my neck. I had embarrassed him! I had shamed him! I have feared the man every day of my life, but on that day I learned the unabashed truth.
“I am one blade—one arrow—one vial of poison away from death—at the hand of my own uncle.”
“Islemar will be next,” Simon said.
Lucien’s head snapped up.
“What? What did you say?”
“Islemar will be the next village that Sterling seeks to destroy,” Simon said.
Lucien stepped closer.
“How can you know—where did you hear this? Did the sorceress tell you this?”
Simon’s belly growled. It growled again in quick succession.
“Tell me! Where did you hear—?”